


Underhanded Compliment

by herbailiwick



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Beards, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 12:38:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18591433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: For the world's biggest Anderlock fan.An Anderlock poem about Anderson’s pilot beard.Written 08/21/2012.





	Underhanded Compliment

Anderson first took great pride in his beard.  
He called it distinguished and fun.  
He didn’t expect anyone else would care,  
Not even Greg or Donovan.

Sherlock stared openly, looking alarmed.  
He let loose through snark and sing-song,  
He never said “dull” or “ill-suited” or “sad”  
Or “pathetic” or “somehow just wrong”.

He only said two things, the rest was implied,  
Just asked him, “Did you quit your job?   
Is it your intention to sail all the seas,  
With treasure to find, ships to rob?" 

Anderson knew that he shouldn’t have cared.  
He’d known Sherlock wasn’t his fan.  
Sherlock didn’t want him near, beard or no beard.  
To Sherlock, he was just a man. 

"How funny,” he said, then went home all alone  
And shaved it off, hating himself.   
_I shouldn’t have let Sherlock win,_ was his thought  
As he sat the blade back on the shelf.

The thing that confused him the most in it all  
Was that Sherlock’s fine face fell to see  
The smoothness left in the wake of what once was;  
He’d been picturing Sherlock’s glee.

“It’s gone,” Sherlock sighed. “I welcomed the change.   
You should have gone longer, for fun.”  
He saw the surprise, rolled his eyes to the skies,  
Said, “You’re such a disease, Anderson." 

"You mean to say you liked the pirate-y look?”  
He just couldn’t see it as true.  
“I do. Tell me who’s had a better beard run  
In history? No one, that’s who.”

“Well why don’t you grow one, then?” Anderson sniped.  
“Oh,” he said, “I hate how they scratch.  
When it’s my own hair, I mean. If it was yours,  
Well that’s something else. You’re a catch.”

He walked away from him then, moving along,  
But slowly enough to be caught.  
“You’re having me on!” the man sputtered, and stared.  
“Or you’re high, but I’d swear you’re not.”

“You really are stupid,” said Sherlock, “a shame.  
I thought complimenting would work.  
It didn’t, though, clearly, and now that you’ve shaved,  
You just look to me like a berk." 

_I’ll show him,_ thought Anderson. _He’ll change his tune.  
I’ll show him that kissing me’s great,  
No matter the facial hair, or lack thereof._  
Sherlock called, "Stop making me wait.”


End file.
